Staying For Good (A Most Likely To Novel Book 2)

by Catherine Bybee

  He pulled until she stumbled back and her knees started to give. His arms felt the power of her surrender. His cock decided maybe it wanted to screw after all.

  Holding his scrawny wife in one hand, he pulled her out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the only bathroom. He slammed his hand on the light, let adrenaline fuel his lesson. A cosmetic bag sat on the counter. He poured everything inside into the sink. With one hand, he managed to remove the top of a lipstick.

  Sheryl held his hand to keep him from taking part of her scalp.

  “Lipstick makes men think of blow jobs.” He pushed the lipstick onto her lips, leaving a clump on one of her bottom teeth. He tossed the stuff back in the sink and grabbed a black tube.

  “Ziggy, stop.”

  Using his teeth, he opened the mascara. Sheryl closed her eyes as he scraped it over her eyelids.

  She cried and he tugged harder.

  “Yeah . . . I like that.” He rubbed against her hip, let her know what the makeup did for him.

  The door to Zanya’s room opened.

  Ziggy pulled Sheryl all the way into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  He dropped the makeup, put both hands in her hair and his lips close to her ear. “You say my name, real slow. Ziggy baby.”

  He pulled her harder. “Ziggy. Baby.”

  He knew his daughter sat on the other side of the door, listening.

  “Yeah, baby,” he moaned, watching the door. “Moan!”

  She didn’t move fast enough. When he pulled, she moaned enough to sound like he was giving it to her.

  “Not so loud,” he said with a forced laugh. “Our baby will know how much you like it.”

  The sound of Zanya’s door closing was like walking past a cop with a jacket full of dope. He turned his attention to Sheryl.

  With a smile, he pushed her to her knees in front of him and opened the fly of his jeans.

  The dinner party was at Wyatt and Mel’s house.

  “You know Mel can’t cook,” she told Luke as they walked the few blocks it took to get there. It wasn’t raining, and since they planned on drinking, they decided to enjoy the warm September night.

  “I know she’s been poring over cookbooks ever since you announced you were writing one.”

  “Oh, has she cooked for you before?”

  Luke cringed. “Lord, no . . . Wyatt has to be the guinea pig for that mess.”

  She lifted the bottle of wine she had in her hand and tapped it on the one in his. “We’ll be fine.”

  Jo’s squad car sat parked across the street, and Miss Gina was just pulling into the drive.

  Zoe couldn’t help but wonder if Miss Gina owned something other than a floor-length skirt.

  Miss Gina eyed the wine in their hands. “Oh, thank God.” She lifted her hand to show a jug of what Zoe had to guess was the famous hard lemonade.

  “Open container, Miss Gina? That’s naughty of you.”

  “Pft.” She slammed the door to the throwback sixties VW van and headed for the door. “I have connections at the top.”

  Wyatt was a general contractor, and it showed in the work he’d put into his home. Mel greeted them at the door, all smiles, and Zoe had to admit, good smells came from the kitchen.

  “I’m waiting to smell burnt,” Miss Gina said right off.

  Mel slapped the woman’s shoulder and took the lemonade from her hand. “Do you want this or wine?”

  “Or beer?” Wyatt asked from the living room.

  “I’ll take a beer.” Luke lifted a hand.

  Jo held Hope’s hand as they drifted from a hallway.

  “Auntie Zoe!” Hope pulled away and hugged her.

  “What? No love for me?” Luke opened his arms.

  “Oh, Uncle Luke.” Hope shared the love.

  Zoe followed Mel into the state-of-the-art kitchen and ran a hand over the edge of the oven. “Nice digs, Mel.”

  “Wyatt did all of it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Stone countertops, stainless steel appliances, downlighting from under the cabinets. “The wine fridge is perfect there.” A well thought out wedding gift, she thought with a grin.

  “Yeah, he’d planned the space for a beer tap. Can you imagine?”

  Zoe almost choked.

  Luke clearing his throat from the doorway had her standing taller.

  “Let me open this.” Mel took the wine from Zoe’s hand.

  Luke slid closer, took the bottle opener off the counter. He moved close, whispered, “Christmas present.”

  Zoe fluttered her lashes a few times and blew him off with a smile.

  Luke kissed her without invitation and then left them alone in the kitchen.

  “Do you have any idea how great that is to see?”

  “I know how great it is to feel.”

  Mel offered a one-arm hug and continued opening the wine.

  Marinated chicken, just slightly overdone, steamed vegetables, and brown rice that needed another twenty minutes to cook. Zoe had to hand it to her nonculinary friend. “I’m impressed,” Zoe said after the first few bites.

  Poor Mel looked nervous. “The rice isn’t cooked enough.”

  “I like it, Mommy.”

  Luke ruffled the top of Hope’s head.

  “Timing is something you learn from mistakes. The more you cook, the more mistakes you make, the better you get.”

  “You should put that in your book,” Jo said.

  “Says the one who lives out of a microwave box.”

  Jo waved a forkful of chicken in the air. “The rice in the box is never undercooked.”

  Luke and Wyatt both agreed.

  “Good Lord, what have you two lived on for the past ten years?” Zoe asked the men.

  Wyatt filled his fork with half-done rice. “Pizza.”

  “Fried chicken,” Luke added.

  “Beer.”

  Luke kicked her under the table.

  “I can grill a mean steak,” Wyatt said.

  “It’s clear I moved back to River Bend in time save you all from high cholesterol and hypertension.”

  “What’s hy-derp-teshion?” Hope asked.

  “It’s what you get when you eat tasty things,” Miss Gina told her.

  More than one set of eyes glared at the woman.

  “What? It’s true.”

  “What happened to peace, love, and all things earthy?” Zoe asked.

  Miss Gina reached for her wine. “Oh, honey . . . we used that line before God created weed cards. Now that it’s all legal-like, we stopped eating wheatgrass.”

  Jo blinked a few times. “You have a green card?”

  “There is more in Eugene than my friend Peter.”

  Zoe almost spit out her wine.

  “You have a friend named Peter?” Hope asked.

  An hour later, once Zoe helped Mel load the dishwasher and put the men to work cleaning the rest of the dishes, Mel put Hope to bed. Zoe and Jo walked Miss Gina to her van.

  “I can stay at the inn tonight if you want.”

  Miss Gina waved her off. “I have a nice couple from Eureka driving through.”

  “And you came here?” It wasn’t often Miss Gina left the inn when there were guests.

  “They have the emergency number. Besides, they were in bed before I left.”

  Jo kissed her cheek. “Call if you need anything.”

  They watched her pull out of the drive.

  Zoe turned to walk back in and noticed Jo looking around.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s new.” Zane pointed to the shoulder holster Jo had tried to hide under her jogging jacket.

  She blew it off with a white lie. “I noticed bear tracks on the trail the other day.”

  If Zane didn’t believe her, he didn’t say anything.

  They’d fallen into a routine of running two miles before the team showed up and then took off on the off track course for a few miles. It gave most of the kids the opp
ortunity to go home and shower before returning for class.

  “I’m worried about Zanya,” Zane said once they stopped and waited for the teens to arrive.

  “Why?”

  “You know Mylo?”

  “Blaze’s dad, yeah. Seemed like an okay kid.” But barely able to drink in a bar and certainly not ready to be a daddy.

  “He got a job at the RV plant. Doing pretty good, actually.”

  “That’s great.”

  “He told me he was going to ask Zanya to move in with him.”

  Get away from Ziggy. “So why are you worried?”

  “She’s afraid to leave.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I think she’s scared to leave my mom there alone.”

  Jo waited a beat, and then asked, “Because of Ziggy?”

  One nod was his answer.

  Damn it.

  “I remember him yelling before he went in. Now he just sits there and watches you.”

  “Prison does strange things to people.”

  “Yeah.” Zane tilted his water bottle back.

  “Zane . . . has he hit her?”

  “Zanya? No. Not that I know of.”

  “But you think he might?”

  He was obviously torn. “People can change, can’t they?”

  Jo put a hand on her chest. “I drank more than all these kids in high school. My own dad put me in that cell I now hold the key to. You know what he said to me not long before he died?”

  Zane shook his head.

  “He told me the only way I was going to change was if I joined the military or lost something so precious it gutted me.” Emotion threatened to overtake her with a simple memory.

  “Damn, Jo . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too . . . because he was right, and I don’t have the chance to tell him. Problem is, your dad hasn’t lost something, and he didn’t join the army.”

  “I wish he’d never gotten out.”

  “A lot of people agree with that.”

  “He’s my dad. I shouldn’t feel that way.”

  “Society can’t dictate feelings, and you sure as hell don’t need to put up with abuse to prove your love.”

  Zane kicked the stands. “I have one dad. One!”

  Jo stood and placed a hand on Zane’s shoulder. “I’m going to ask you something I asked your sister when she went through this . . . was Ziggy a sperm donor, or was he a father? Did he give his donation and leave? Or did he stick around to dedicate his life to make yours better to the best of his abilities? We all have choices in this life, Zane. Life’s choices are what make us better or let us sit in the past and never grow.”

  “I hate this.”

  She did, too. “Try and get Zanya to leave. She doesn’t need to suffer the sins of her parents.”

  Zane seemed good with that.

  “And, Zane . . . call Zoe.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Zoe’s car sat in his drive, and the hope that she was cooking something amazing made his stomach grumble in happy anticipation.

  That anticipatory happiness faded the second he breached the door and he found Zoe curled up on his sofa, a blanket in her lap, tears in her eyes.

  He forgot about food and went straight to her.

  Without words, she folded into his arms.

  “Whose ass do I need to kick?”

  She messed up the front of his shirt, and he waited. “I just got off the phone with Zane.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Both. He said he was sorry.” She sat back, looked at him. “He cried, Luke. I don’t remember my brother ever crying.”

  He ran a finger under the tears in her eyes. “Still wanna kick his ass.”

  She lowered her forehead to his chest. “How am I going to do this? Everything I love is here, and everything I hate is here! Zanya is trying to protect my mom, and Zane is trying to protect our sister, and all I can do is watch it all fall apart.”

  The pain in her words had him holding her tighter.

  If there was one thing to drive Zoe away, it was her dysfunctional family.

  He wouldn’t survive losing her again.

  “This place is crawling with new faces.” Jo walked into R&B’s wearing civilian clothes and no fewer than two weapons strapped to various parts of her body.

  Josie cleaned the counter in front of her with a big grin. “Great for business. I’m told there was a developer looking at property on the other side of Waterville, by the RV plant. Considering a housing tract.”

  “Out here?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  River Bend and Waterville were known for spec houses that didn’t sit in cookie cutter yards. There were two old apartment buildings in Waterville that nearly everyone had either lived in or partied in when they were young. The growth came in bits and spurts . . . or not at all. “I guess the economy is turning around.”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Put something fizzy in a glass with lime. Make it look good.”

  Josie looked at Jo’s outfit. “You’re on duty?”

  “Like I said, Josie. Lots of unfamiliar faces around here.”

  Normally, Jo’s concern for the safety of her town would result in a backhanded remark from the lady who owned R&B’s. Nothing happens in River Bend. We’re the safest town in the world. Nobody even locks their doors. Something . . . anything to make Jo think she was acting paranoid.

  Instead, Josie saluted two fingers in the air and said, “I got ya covered.” Then she disappeared to take care of Jo’s order.

  She was simply the sheriff in town to most people. A few of her high school acquaintances would justify calling her Jo when she was dressed down and sitting at R&B’s, which wasn’t something she did often, and not at all since Ziggy was back.

  The man had completely changed her routine. Even running with the cross-country team felt like she was exposing herself to some kind of danger. Danger that had nothing to do with wildlife.

  “Here ya go.”

  Jo took her glass and moved from her perch of observation.

  A couple of friendly waves escorted her as she walked to the lone pool table.

  An entire group of men, probably in their midthirties, took turns rolling heavy balls into pockets with a stick. She didn’t recognize any of them. Turning at least one head as she walked by, she stopped in front of the jukebox and pretended to scan her choices.

  Eavesdropping on a conversation was always difficult in a bar, but she managed.

  “It will be like prospecting in the Klondike. Livin’ in our RVs for months.” Jo didn’t turn to see who spoke, she just swayed to the music and dug a quarter from her pocket.

  “Don’t mind that. Get away from my ol’ lady,” another voice said.

  “She won’t catch you boinkin’ a new flavor either.”

  Laughter along with the sound of two balls colliding interrupted their conversation.

  “I don’t see much around here to play with.”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  Jo felt heat on her ass . . . the kind a woman feels when she knows it’s being stared at.

  She made a selection and moved away without turning around. The last thing she needed was someone in that crowd picking up on her. Anonymity was her friend right now.

  She eased around the back and waved to Buddy in the kitchen. “Looks like you’re gettin’ your workout.” The man was running like a real short-order cook.

  “Yeah, how about you get that fancy chef friend of yours in here to help me?”

  Jo laughed at the thought of Zoe in the back of R&B’s. “Good luck with that. See anything off around here?”

  Buddy shot her a glance.

  “C’mon, I know Luke talked to ya.”

  He shoved something fried into the service window.

  “I haven’t seen that guy everyone is talkin’ about,” Buddy said. “There are a couple of quiet ones that come in. Seem to be lookin’ more than drinkin’
.”

  Jo turned back around to scan the place.

  “They’re not in here tonight.”

  “Any particular day they show up?”

  “When it’s busy. I’m guessin’ to blend in.”

  “So the weekends?”

  He rang the bell to get one of the waitresses’ attention.

  “Seems like every night is a weekend around here lately.”

  She tapped the counter. “Thanks, Buddy.”

  Jo felt eyes on her ass as she walked past the pool table and again when she set her drink on the counter with a five-dollar bill.

  Outside, Jo walked the parking lot with her cell phone in her hand. To the casual observer she might look like she was checking her messages, but in reality, the video function did a great job of capturing license plate numbers that she could run when she went into the station.

  Satisfied she had what she needed, she rounded the back of her Jeep, heard gravel kick behind her with footsteps, and turned around with her gun in her hand.

  “Holy shit, woman!”

  The guy behind her was one of the men at the pool table. He had both hands in the air, his eyes leveled on her service weapon.

  She pointed the muzzle toward the sky and took her finger off the trigger.

  “Sneaking up behind people will get you shot.” She made no apology to the stranger, though she knew her reaction was overkill. Her heart rate was shooting over the top, her eyes hyperaware of the darkness beyond the parking lot.

  Calm the hell down! she yelled at herself.

  He took a step back, hands still high. “Way too much work.” He stopped staring at the gun to look her up and down. “Too bad.” Then he turned and walked away.

  For a full minute, she leaned against her Jeep and pulled her shit together.

  She returned her gun to her shoulder harness and opened the Jeep door.

  Then she heard clapping.

  “Well done.”

  The shadow of a man stood on the other side of the street, leaning against a tree.

  Three steps out of the light given off by R&B’s lot and Jo’s focus matched the face with the voice.

  “You’re mighty close to breaking your parole, Ziggy.”

  “A hundred yards.” He nodded toward the bar. “I’m guessing I’m at least two.”

  She stepped close enough to see his eyes, maybe catch alcohol on his breath. Anything to pull him in on a charge that would take him back to jail.